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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want assistance. The threats exceeded the effects because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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